Dominance
by Reenaredgirl
Summary: ReUpload. Undertaker/Batista. Slash. My take on their rivalry from 2007.
1. Prologue

**N/A: This is a reupload of something I published around two years ago. I apologize for the extended leave and change of pen name. **

**Dominance**

**Chapter 1**

**Disclaimer: All names and characters are property of WWE, which means Vince McMahon. I'm not making any profit from this work of fiction. If either Batista or Taker read it, they will probably have a heart attack, Vince will sue me for making him loose two of his hottest superstars, and I will be murdered by the hate of millions of fans around the world. Good thing Reena is not my real name.**

**Rating: M – that means Mature, folks: violence, dark themes, a bit of graphic sex, homosexuality, and even some incest! Don't like, don't read.**

**There is nothing in this chapter to justify a M rating though. Just a brief mention of slash. **

**Pairing: Batista/Undertaker**

**Basically, I'm following their rivalry from the Royal Rumble 2007 until Taker got injured and left in May 2007.**

"_The real world is faker than wresling."_

My reign as World Heavyweight Champion would not stop at the Royal Rumble 2007. I knew it in my gut before the match even started. Mr Kennedy and his annoying mic skills put up a good fight though; I was almost surprised. But in the end I prevailed. That belt is my life. It represents everything I want: success, power, my undisputable domination over all others. I should know, I took it from the most egoistical, cruel and dominating individual I have ever known. Hunter still won't forgive me for my "betrayal". The Game had wanted me as a pet. Maybe in his own twisted mind, that was the equivalent of a show of affection. But Hunter had been too demanding, too controlling. Had he been stronger, I would have been able to accept it, perhaps. But he was not. I was the most powerful, and I needed to prove it.

Hunter was crushed. Our relationship ended, damaged beyond repair. Had I loved Hunter? At some point, I probably had. He was shining like a sun when I first met him, and as a rookie, I was naturally drawn to him. I was overjoyed when he made me an Evolution member. I was proud when he chose to fuck me instead of Randy. I craved his smile after I won a match, a tap on the shoulder. I thought I would be happy to always be second to him. I supported him, helped him retain and regain the title. "His" title. I worshipped him. Everything then, everything had been about Hunter Hearst Helmsey.

Then the illusion cracked. Randy left. Or was betrayed, whatever you choose. Triple H seemed to get weaker and weaker by the week. Or maybe I just got stronger. Our relationship had always been clear from the beginning: Hunter was in charge, for everything. But I was becoming too powerful. I couldn't take it anymore, to the point where the animal in me screamed for his blood.

I took the belt from him. He couldn't accept it. I crushed him even further in a Steel Cage, left him bloodied and battered, almost unable to stand. He recognized my superiority, and we never talked again.

Those days have been over for years now, and as Ric Flair would say, "I am the Man". I believe I am one of the most powerful wrestlers in the WWE, if not the most powerful. My next scheduled title defence would be at Wrestlemania 23, in roughly two months. Whoever wins the Royal Rumble tonight will possibly take a shot at my title to headline the Granddaddy of Them All. I am not worried, I know I will win. I am in the best shape of my life, and I fear no one. Physically, mentally, I may very well be the best right now. I will take any attempt to take my belt from me personally.

That title is mine, and mine alone.

* * *

Only two were left in the ring.

_Wrestlemania._

The Deadman and the Heart Break Kid eyed each other, knowing exactly what the other thought.

_Wrestlemania._

They fought.

_Wrestlemania._

Blood had already been spilt earlier that night. They bled even more.

_Wrestlemania._

One of them was launched other the top rope, the other stood proud in the ring.

_Wrestlemania._

In front of millions, they both acknowledged each other's strength, paying respect to a fellow warrior. Only for the sake of appearance.

In the mind of the victor, only one thought resounded.

WRESTLEMANIA.

* * *

**Praise is always welcome, constructive criticism is always appreciated, and flames will be ignored or laughed at!**


	2. The Deadman is Coming

**Dominance**

**Chapter 2 : The Deadman is coming**

**See warnings in the first chapter. Nothing deserving of a M rating in this one. Maybe PG.**

_"Some wounds never heal."_

Smackdown, February 2nd, 2007

The Undertaker. Of all people, the Undertaker had to be the one to win the damn Royal Rumble.

Batista was pacing restlessly in his locker room. Truth to be told, he wasn't all that surprised. Ever since the Beat the Clock challenge earlier this year, he had been feeling the Deadman's cold breath over his neck. He had consciously avoided a Triple Threat Match for the Royal Rumble. Attacking Kennedy, thus disqualifying the Taker and ruining his shot at the Title, had not been only a reaction to the Loudmouth's provocation. Kennedy and the Undertaker were simply too much to contend with at the same time. Batista preferred one on one battles.

He had already avoided the Devil once. Dave knew such a miracle wouldn't happen a second time. The Undertaker was coming for his title at Wrestlemania, he was almost certain of it. And he would be damned if he had to wait two months for a first confrontation. He wanted to be in the ring with the Taker. A Legend, everybody said, a true Phenom. Batista felt he needed some kind of preparation before their match. They may not fight today, but the experience could only help his confidence grow further. With that in mind, he ignored the uncomfortable shivers running down his spine, went to the ring, and threw the Undertaker a pop card.

However, his call wasn't answered by whom he expected. Batista watched, surprised and annoyed, as John Cena made his way to the ring, accompanied by a huge pop from the Smackdown crowd. As he gave his microphone to "the Doctor of Thuganomics", the Animal wanted nothing more than to flatten the little ex-thug. But he was also curious. Why was Cena out there? Did he honestly think that the Undertaker could be interested in the WWE title? In Batista's mind, that was plain impossible, and the Raw superstar was spoiling his moment. HE had demanded that the Undertaker come out. HE, Batista, deserved to get the Phenom's attention.

Batista repressed a smirk as he listened to Cena telling how he had been "on the wrong end of the coldest stare that he had ever seen" and almost pissed his pants because of it. He played along, comforting Cena in his idea that the Taker could very well choose him as an opponent for Wrestlemania 23. As if. But why not let that punk sweat a little more? After all, they would have an answer tonight.

All of Batista's confident arrogance seemed to deflate when he heard the first gong. The lights went out, and the second gong resounded, even more ominous than the first one. Batista's mouth went dry as he experienced for the first time the Undertaker's entrance while standing inside the ring. For the first time since the Royal Rumble, Batista realized that he was indeed on the road to Wrestlemania, and the Deadman was coming. His hands felt numb, his legs seemed too heavy to even consider getting out of the ring. Sweat was running down his spine, and Batista could only stare blankly as the imposing dark figure slowly walked down the ramp amidst smoke and sounds of thunder.

A funeral march. A brilliant mind game. Whatever you wanted to call it, Batista knew what it really stood for: the sheer presence of that man was enough to strike fear in the opponent's heart, and the long and intimidating march was there to let them make their mind. Would they be completely overcome by fear, surrender to a power greater than their own, and become a victim? Or would they use the time the Undertaker gave them to gather their wits, fight down the fear, and become a worthy opponent? Those thoughts came to Batista in a flash, like a revelation. He would not be the victim. Not at any price, he refused to be the victim. He would show the Deadman that he was a warrior, a fighter worthy of his attention. Gritting his teeth, the Animal made himself take even breathes, and tried to get his heartbeat to slow down to a regular pace, as he tightened his grip on his World Title Belt. Knowing that to show any weakness would mean his doom, he forced himself to look at the Deadman right in the eyes, wanting to let the Undertaker know he would not avoid confrontation. On the contrary, he was looking for it.

Hardened by his resolution, Batista felt almost lighter as he watched the Phenom slowly climb the steps to the ring. He had passed the first part of the test, he knew it. His confidence was coming back. It became easy to brush off his brief moment of uncontrollable fear as a simple fluke.

However, as the Undertaker summoned the lights back on, Batista saw the eerie white eyes that seemed to pierce his soul, and took an involuntary step back. That was enough to shatter instantly any confidence he might have built back just a moment ago. Cursing himself silently, he tried to mask it as much as possible, but had the nagging feeling that the Deadman could smell his uneasiness.

Gulping, Batista put his title back on his shoulder as the Undertaker stood in front of him and the WWE champion. Damn the guy was tall. But then the Taker did something that swept away all fear in Batista. He looked at Cena first. For the first time, Batista actually understood that the choice wasn't made yet, that the Undertaker could really consider going after Cena. Or Lashley for that matter. That thought alone made his vision turn red. He didn't understand why exactly, but he felt his rage build up inside of him in a matter of seconds, and that anger served him in the end, because when the Phenom finally put his cold gaze on Batista, all he could see was a burning predator ready to strike.

In Batista's mind, he was the one who had called the Taker out, he was the one who screwed him out of a title shot at the Royal Rumble, and he was, by far, the most deserving of the Undertaker's undivided attention. He was stronger than Cena, he certainly was smarter too. His belt meant as much as Cena's, not to mention Lashley's.

Now all he had to do was to make the Phenom understand that.

The Deadman's frozen face gave nothing away. Not a blink, not a movement of the mouth. Batista was ready to strike in order to make his point, when the arena was filled with DX music. Shawn Michaels was in the house.

The Animal was stunned to see how quickly and easily the Undertaker turned his eyes away from him to look at HBK. Baffled, and more than a little bitter, Batista watched Michaels make his way to the ring and get right in the face of the Taker showing no fear, no intimidation, no nothing! He was perfectly comfortable in the presence of one of the most awesome Legend of wrestling, even with the obvious size difference. Michaels talked to the Undertaker like he knew what the Deadman was feeling. So secure was his knowledge of the Taker, that he challenged him for his Title shot, right there! And the Taker was listening to him, and even walked up towards the smaller man, towering and menacing. They were chest to chest now, the tension between them almost palpable, and the glint in Taker's eyes told Batista that a match with Shawn Michaels may actually be, for the Deadman, "another day in paradise".

However, that was not to be. Before the two great adversaries could get it on, Vince McMahon dragged his oversized ego to the ring and literally threw a bomb at them. Batista would partner up with the Undertaker against Cena and Michaels at No Way Out. Talk about random. Batista didn't know if he should be pleased or annoyed. That was not the way he had envisioned things to go at all!

And another thing was on his mind: why had the Undertaker not chosen him already?

* * *

Batista was once again furiously pacing in his locker room. The show had gone off air, and that damn Deadman still hadn't made his decision publicly! The choice was obvious though. The Undertaker had to choose Batista, he had to! In Batista's mind, that was as clear as day. And yet, nothing in the Deadman's attitude had revealed that he was going after the World Heavyweight Title. What if... Batista shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Earlier, he felt fear, something he didn't think could happen anymore. A match with the Legend would be the ultimate test of mental and physical strength, and the Animal needed it. He needed to know where he stood. Plus, he was more than intrigued by the man who had managed to occupy all his thoughts since the Royal Rumble.

He had three days until Raw, where the Undertaker was likely to announce who his opponent will be. Three days to get the Phenom's attention in a way that would guarantee he demanded a shot at his title. In other words, he needed to piss the Deadman off .

Easier said than done. Nothing seemed to be able to reach the man. The death mask made him inaccessible. So Batista did his homework. He first asked around the locker room about Taker's habits and found little to nothing. The Deadman came to the arena on his motorcycle, disappeared in his locker room or somewhere else, went to the ring, destroyed his unfortunate opponent, and disappeared again. Few were the ones who saw him leave the arena, usually at a very late hour. Hoping to find out what could make the Phenom tick, Dave did research on the main feuds Taker had for the past decade. What immediately struck him was that, for each and every opponent, the Undertaker gave everything he had, from Stone Cold Steve Austin to Mankind to Kurt Angle to Mr Kennedy. Once he had someone in sight, he would completely focus on that person. Batista felt his mouth go dry at the idea of being the recipient of the Undertaker's wrath, but steeled himself and continued his research. Some years ago, there was a really chubby and creepy little man called Paul Bearer that had been the Taker's manager for over ten years, and when the Deadman made his return in 2004, Bearer, who carried his mythical urn, was right by his side. Taker seemed to care for this little man, always protecting him when he was in danger at ringside, but what Batista read after that sent chills down his spine. Paul Heyman, Smackdown then-GM, had wanted to exploit this affection of the Undertaker for Paul Bearer, and made the Deadman realized that he had a weakness. So what did the Undertaker do? He got rid of that weakness, plain and simple. If Bearer had been the Undertaker's "conscience", as Jim Ross put it, then the Deadman was as heartless and remorseless as any being could ever be.

Or was he? Whereas most of the names of the rivals disappeared from the Taker's history once he was done with them, one name kept coming back. Adversaries at first, allies months later, another betrayal, another reconciliation, and again and again. He was the only man whom Taker let approach after the Bearer fiasco. Kane.

Batista smirked in satisfaction. So the Big Bad Undertaker had a soft side for his little brother, hadn't he? Well, he just had to go find the Big Red Retard now. It shouldn't be hard, the guy was anything but discreet. Didn't look for trouble, but trouble found him anyway. Just ask King Booker.

Batista was right. He found Kane in the back of the arena, still in his ring suit. The big man apparently just had a fight, and considering what he did earlier in the show, interrupting Booker's ceremony of whatever shit the guy was pulling that time, it didn't surprise the Animal that the delusional King had sought revenge.

Batista approached Kane cautiously. Since the Inferno match at Armageddon, the man had been keeping a relatively low profile, but considering Kane's volatile mood, that meant nothing.

Still, Batista had the advantage. Kane was weakened and the Animal was fresh. Feeling secure, he got even closer and leant against the wall, observing the bruised seven-foot monster.

"You alright man?" he asked casually.

Kane glanced at him, then went back to checking his jaw, where an angry bruise was starting to form.

"What do you want?" he asked aggressively.

"Whoa, easy big man, I was just checking on you." Dave said, raising his hands as a sign of peace. "You don't look too good right now. Trouble with Booker?"

"Yeah, Booker and that green Irish bastard. They should be in the trainer's room right now", Kane added with a smirk.

As Kane slowly got to his feet, Batista thought about the Undertaker, and was amazed to see how much different the two brothers were. Compared to his brother, Kane seemed so open. You could tell right away what he was thinking, not to mention the fact that he actually talked to people. Batista took his chance.

"You wanna go to drink something? I know a nice little place not far from the arena."

Kane's went wide open in surprise, but quickly surprise left and an annoyed expression took its place on Kane's features.

"Very funny. If you're done wasting my time, I'll go back to the hotel."

"I wasn't joking. You look like you could use a drink, that's all. Come on, my treat."

Batista had him, he knew it. He had always been good at charming people, whoever they were. He simply knew how to inspire trust.

Kane reluctantly agreed, and after he took a shower and changed his clothes, they both went to the bar Batista was familiar with, earning odd looks from the people they met on the way. Batista's plan was going along even more easily than he thought it would. He and Kane had a few beers, both being mostly silent, until Batista decided Kane was inebriated enough not to notice the drug he was slipping in his glass. Nothing dangerous, Kane would just sleep for a while, and awake with a very strong headache, nothing more. Or maybe nausea too, he wasn't sure...

The drug was slipped in the glass, and Kane was drinking it under the satisfied eyes of Batista, when suddenly Kane asked a question that caught Batista off guard.

"So, why did you bring me here?"

"What? I told you..."

"Cut your crap, I know you don't give a damn about me."

"Why did you accept then?"

"I needed a drink."

They both went silent as Kane gulped down his beer.

"It's about my brother right?"

"What? No, I..."

"Most of the time, people come to me with the idea that since I am his brother, I will know everything about the Undertaker, including how to beat him, what his weakness is, and other shitty nonsense. So, what's your shitty question?"

Batista was at a loss for words. His motives were completely blown. Thankfully, he didn't have to explain himself as the drug kicked in and Kane slumped down the table.

Now all Batista had to do was carry three hundred and twenty something pounds of deadweight to his car and drive to the flat he rented ten miles from where they were.

Moments later, Batista was watching Kane sleeping peacefully on the couch. Batista's couch to be precise. After the Big Red Machine had passed out earlier in the bar, Batista had somehow managed to bring the seven footer there, half-carrying, half-dragging him. Kane hat not opened one eye during the whole process.

It was Friday night, or more like Saturday morning, which left Batista the whole weekend until Raw. Perfect. As he thought his plan over, Batista chuckled darkly. Quite frankly, he felt like a teenager again, about to do something taboo, but oh so exciting. If he was right about the current relationship of the two siblings, Big Brother was going to be extremely mad. No way he wouldn't choose to face the World Heavyweight Champion after that. But for now, all the Animal had to do was wait. Kane would be locked in that little room until his brother noticed his absence. Batista had taken Kane's cell phone, and would be waiting for the Phenom to call. He had checked Kane's call list, and his brother was at the top. After all, even the Undertaker had to adapt to technology.

Speaking of Kane, Batista noticed something as he got closer to the sleeping giant. The big man wasn't making any noise at all. No snoring, no little movements, no nothing. If not for the faint but steady rise and fall of his chest, Batista would have thought him dead.

"Freaky family", he muttered.

He dragged Kane in the spare bedroom, gave him another sedative shot, handcuffed him to the bedpan for insurance, and went back to the hotel rented specially for the Smackdown superstars.

He came back a day later. He found Kane exactly where he left him, except the large man was fully awake, and completely furious. He was also in bad shape. He had not eaten nor drunk anything for the past 24 hours, and his wrists were all bloodied from his struggling. Thankfully, he didn't cut his veins open, as Batista feared at first.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" Kane yelled when he saw Batista.

"Come down before you hurt yourself even further. Is that any way to thank the one who offered you a drink last night?"

"Right. You have my best interests in mind of course. Now can you tell me what the fuck you're playing at?"

"I'm trying to piss off your brother in a way he's never been pissed off before."

Batista didn't see the need to lie to Kane.

"What? Either you're suicidal, or very stupid. Besides, what makes you think kidnapping me will anger the Taker?"

"I haven't just kidnapped you. I've drugged you, locked you up, starved you, and soon I'll also have left you to die in a burning inferno."

"…What?"

Ah, some signs of nervousness. Batista detested when people underestimated him. And to be honest, he was feeling like a great villain from a movie, watching his Machiavellian plan unfold before his evil eyes, and that amused him immensely. Especially since he knew Kane wouldn't be really harmed. He couldn't risk jail after all… That didn't prevent him from playing the villain role of course.

"Yes. You two have quite a history when it comes to fire. Do you think reliving your childhood will be enough to tick off your beloved brother?"

"My "beloved" brother don't give a shit about me", retorted Kane, eyes cast down and body tense.

"Bullshit. You can't lie, so stop trying to. And after what you did to MVP at Armageddon, consider this some kind of karma payback." Batista said with a smirk. He loved having the upper hand, and in this situation, he felt like he was pulling all the strings.

Kane had fallen silent.

Suddenly Kane's cell phone, which was in Dave's pocket, vibrated furiously. Batista picked it up, and looked at the name the small screen was displaying.

"So soon? You should feel very lucky, Kane. Your tough bastard of a brother can't hold on 24 hours before calling you."

"Son of a bitch."

"Sure, sure. Shut up now."

Batista put the phone to his ear, and immediately, an angry voice attacked him.

"Kane! Where the hell are you? I swear if you're with the cops again I'll…"

Feeling more and more like the big bad from a Hollywood movie, Batista said in his deepest voice:

"Do not worry, your little brother is fine… for now."

"…The fuck? Who the hell is this?"

Somehow Dave was disappointed that the Undertaker didn't recognize his voice right away. In a movie, he should have heard something like "You! What have you done with my brother you evil, evil fiend!" But the Undertaker didn't even recognize him! All of his childish excitement disappeared in an instant, and he answered the Taker in his normal voice.

"It's Batista. Me and your brother, we went for a drink last night. We're great buddies now. He's right here, in … Street, …. Oh, I smell something burning. Better go and see what it is. Later."

And with that, he hung off the phone. Kane was looking at him as if he were crazy.

"Okay, your brother should be here in about ten minutes. Just enough time for me to light a little fire, and get the hell out of here."

Putting his words into action, Batista took the gas can he had brought with him and spread the liquid fuel around the apartment. He was rich, he could easily afford something like this. And he warned the guy who rented him the flat, gave him some big banknotes, and got assured that there would be no problem. However, he made sure the pattern he made with the fuel was sparse enough so that Kane wouldn't burn to death within ten seconds. In fact, he didn't even put fuel in the room where Kane was. Only on his door, to make him sweat a little. And force him to relive some traumatic childhood memories… a catatonic or panicking Kane would make an even bigger impression on the Taker when he found him.

Smiling a little bit and waving Kane goodbye, he lit a match, threw it on the fuel trace, left the apartment and closed the door.


	3. Choice Made

**Dominance**

**Chapter 3 : Choice Made**

"_Do not use the past as an alibi_

_For all of your deficiencies always standing by_

_Face your negligence, do not fool yourself_

_Shortcomings will soon appear_

_For weakness shows itself"_

Monday Night Raw. As per order of Vince McMahon, all world champions from the three brands were invited. The Undertaker would have to announce his choice in the ring, at the beginning of the show.

As if there was any doubt who the Undertaker would choose. His plan had worked perfectly. As soon as he arrived in the arena, all he could hear in the locker room were rumours of what happened to the Brothers of Destruction during the weekend. As he listened to another re-telling of the story, Batista wished he had been there to see the Undertaker and Kane coming back to the hotel. Judging from the various descriptions he got, what a sight it must have been! The Undertaker had arrived to the hotel all blackened with soot, supporting his little brother who was just as dirty as he was. There was at least a dozen variations of that little tale, but all of them agreed on one point: the Undertaker had looked completely furious, and Kane's eyes had looked dead. Completely empty, with no expression on his face, as if he wasn't there inside. Taker had swiftly brought his brother to his room, and they had not been seen since.

It looked like he had been right about the fire then. And to think Kane had actually enjoyed putting MVP in the flames. Crazy freak.

Dave knew he had nothing to fear from the police. The Undertaker would never try to get him arrested. Instead, he would make the thing personal, and get revenge on his own. And what better way to do that than battle Batista for the most precious thing he had : the World Heavyweight Title belt.

As the Animal made his way through the backstage arena, thoroughly pleased with himself, he saw the lithe figure of Shawn Michaels heading hastily towards the locker room area. Specifically the area where he knew the Deadman's room was. For some reason, his and the Undertaker's rooms were situated as far from one another as the building could allow. His curiosity got the better of him. He simply couldn't miss an opportunity of seeing the Taker, he needed to know where he was, what he was doing, how he was taking the little stunt Batista had pulled the day before. Dave should probably have stopped to think about what seemed like the beginning of an obsession, but he didn't, and he followed Michaels without a hint of uneasiness until the smaller man finally stopped in front of a locker room door.

Batista's intuition had been right. It was the room of the Deadman. Michaels took a deep breath, and was about to know, when the door opened before he could do anything, and the tall shadow of the Undertaker loomed over him. They exchanged some words on the doorway, but Batista couldn't hear what they said. HBK looked a bit uneasy, but also… concerned. What business did he have being concerned with the Undertaker? Batista was getting more and more frustrated by the second, not liking one bit the fact that Michaels seemed to be on speaking terms with the Phenom. What in the hell could they be talking about? When Michaels took a small packet from his pocket and gave it to the Taker, who accepted with a nod, Batista couldn't take it anymore. Not thinking about the consequences and the potential jeopardy he could put himself in, he was about to walk up to the two men and confront them, but a firm hand fell on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw the WWE Champion just behind him, looking at him with an intense glare.

"Better leave them alone, man," Cena said darkly. "I don't know what they're talking about, and I'm sure you don't want to know either. None of your business anyway. Come on, the show is about to start."

The mysterious air of John Cena persuaded Batista to follow him. Either the Champ was bluffing, or he knew more than he said.

Cena led Batista through the building.

"Taker comes out first, then us", babbled Cena. "You are just after Lashley."

"I already know that", Batista interrupted abruptly. "Stop fooling around. Why did you stop me back there Cena ?"

The WWE Champ stopped his brisk walking, and turned around to face Batista.

"Look, dawg. I don't care what your business is with the Deadman, but don't drag Shawn into it. He's got enough trouble already."

"Do I look like I care? What's Michaels doing with the Undertaker anyway?"

"He got a call earlier, and he went straight to the parking lot. Man, he was looking completely frantic! I got worried, so I followed him. Guess what, the Deadman himself arrived in a badass car, and what does Shawn do? He helps him carrying another big guy to the locker room."

"Another big guy?"

"Yeah, didn't see who it was, but the guy was even bigger than Taker, and completely out of it. Anyway, after that, Shawn runs back to his locker room, grabs something, a drug of some sort I think, and comes back to give it to Taker. That's where I saw you."

Cena sure liked to talk. That was why Batista didn't like him in the first place. But it was useful sometimes.

"Shawn is acting like he isn't bothered coming face to face with the Taker again, and maybe in the ring he isn't. But damn, I've never seen him like this before."

"Like I said, I don't care about your precious little partner's feelings", said Batista acidly. "But whatever is going on between him and the Undertaker, he better lay off before he gets hurt badly. Don't forget we'll be opponents at No Way Out."

Cena looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Fuck man, what happened to you? Do you even realize what you're saying? You've been here for what? Four, five years? These guys have known each other for a decade and a half! We're nothing more than children compared to them Dave. I don't know what happened between them, but if Shawn is still upset by it, I've got a feeling it wasn't pretty. It's you who'd better back off before you get hurt."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Woah, easy big man! I'm just looking out for you here. We're both in Taker's line of sight remember? Gotta stick together if we hope to make it till he makes his decision… Fuck, I still got goose bumps from last week!"

Cena babbled on, and Batista smiled darkly at the thought of what was going to happen tonight, no longer preoccupied by Shawn Michaels. There was no doubt in his mind: the Undertaker was going after the World Heavyweight Title.

* * *

As he walked backstage on wobbly legs, Batista could still feel his head pounding from the chokeslam he had received earlier. Damn the Taker had been mad. Batista had felt a brief moment of triumph when he had been chosen, and almost couldn't suppress the smug smile that threatened to come on his face during the whole "who will be the number one contender for the WWE Title" bout, but then, as he was about to leave the ring, he felt a white hot stare burning a hole through his back, and turned around to see two unblinking green eyes glaring at him, so full of unadulterated fury, and he felt more than he saw a powerful hand grip his throat, effectively cutting his air supplies. He was elevated with authority as he desperately tried to get some air in his lungs, before being slammed down the mat so hard he almost lost consciousness.

His presence on the Raw arena was no longer needed now, and all Batista wanted was a long, hot shower and a warm bed as he made his way to the parking lot. Suddenly the same strong hand that had almost choked the life out of him was back on his throat, and he was viciously slammed against the wall. As he gasped for air, vision starting to get obscured by back dots, he felt a hot breath on his ear, and a deep, menacing voice whispered:

"I forbid you to touch him. I forbid you to talk to him. I even forbid you to look at him. One look, do you hear me? One wrong look at Kane, and your carrier is over. Understood?"

Each word was so full of contained violence that Batista did not doubt the reality of the threat for one moment. He nodded weakly, and just as he thought he would pass out, his throat was released, and he slowly slid bonelessly to the floor. When he looked up, nobody was there.

He had wanted the Deadman's attention, he certainly got it now.

Batista felt completely drained, but also immensely satisfied. Now was his chance to prove to everybody, and to himself, what he was made of. He would leave Kane alone all right, but now the Taker was his. Wrestlemania 23, the streak was over.

He was about to fall asleep on the spot when two thin legs stopped in front of him. Wearily, he forced his eyes open and looked up to a familiar face. The Heart Break Kid was looking at him with a concerned expression on his handsome features.

"Look big man, I don't know what you're trying to do, but whatever it is, it's not worth it."

"…What are you talking about?"

"I know you're the one responsible for what happened to Kane yesterday …"

"Oh really?" Batista cut him off angrily. "And who told you that?"

"Our national Deadman himself, dumbass. But I'm sure everyone in the locker room with half a brain has already figured out who pissed the Taker off so bad. The chokeslam you just earned was a pretty good clue", Michaels added as Batista finally got off the floor.

The Animal now towered over HBK, who didn't seem impressed at all.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're a big man, you're not afraid of anybody, I get it. But believe me on this one buddy, you'll need all the help you can get if the Deadman is after your ass. Now, what do you want with the ole' Taker?"

"None of your business" Batista grunted, and turned around to leave, but HBK hold him back.

"Just a little advice: whatever you want from the Undertaker, don't attack Kane. Like I said, your carrier isn't worth it."

"What is it with you? Do you really think I'll waste my time with Kane? I already got what I wanted: Wrestlemania to headline with the Taker himself."

Michaels gave him a sad look that made Batista uneasy.

"Liar."

"What?"

"I said liar. Or maybe you're more stupid than you look like and you haven't noticed yet."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Batista growled.

"It's more than just a belt, or the glory of Wrestlemania. I can tell, 'cause about ten years ago, I had the exact same look in my eyes whenever the Deadman was around, whenever he came up in a conversation. He is fascinating, isn't he?"

Batista gave no answer, but Michaels continued, caught up in memories.

"It came to a point where I couldn't think of anything but him. I provoked him constantly, mocked him, attacked him, and I wanted to keep coming at him until HE couldn't think of anything but me. Problem is, you never know what the Deadman is thinking. And instead of drawing him into my world, he drew me into his."

Shawn fell silent, a far away look on his face. Then he looked at Batista straight in the eyes.

"I know you probably won't follow my advice, but I can try anyway. Keep as far away from the Undertaker as you can. Stop trying to follow him – Yeah, I noticed you earlier. Try not to piss him off any further. You don't know him at all, and I suggest you keep it that way. You're better off ignoring certain things, or you'll soon be completely swallowed in his darkness. Trust me, I know."

Batista left the Heart Break Kid in the hallway without a word. Who cared if Taker rejected poor little Shawn ten years ago? Swallowed by the Undertaker's darkness? Right. He wasn't Shawn Michaels, and he took orders from no one. Yes, the Undertaker was fascinating. He certainly wasn't the only one who thought that. But unlike everybody else, Batista wasn't afraid to satisfy his curiosity. Taker better watch out, because he wasn't the only one dealing with Darkness around here.


	4. Game Start

**Dominance**

**Chapter 4 : Game start**

_"It's all about the Game, and how you play it_

_All about control, and if you can take it."_

Smackdown February 9th, 2007

Batista frowned as he looked at the booking for tonight's Smackdown. How come the Undertaker had the Miz for an opponent, while _he_ had to defend his title against Mr Kennedy? Kennedy was double-tough, while Miz was just there to get squashed. Oh, right, when Taker didn't beat the clock a few weeks ago, it was against that scrawny kid. Poor guy, Batista thought, more amused than compassionate.

Something else caught his attention. He knew Kane was supposed to have a match against Finlay tonight, yet Finlay was scheduled against the Bogeyman – another freak Batista couldn't stand. Batista smirked. So the little brother wasn't feeling well, was he? Still traumatized by the little fire Batista lit last week apparently, thought the Animal with disdain. This was why Kane had never been a true champion. Too many deep weaknesses. Physically, Batista doubted he could match strength with the Big Red Machine, but mentally, Kane was too damaged and unpredictable to pose a serious threat to any title. He could capture it of course, but he would loose it right away after a rash decision or a show of weakness, as he did nine years ago. Austin had really played Kane perfectly that night. Stone Cold had taunted Kane, reminded him of his brother's glory, called him weak, and Kane had walked right into the trap. His world title reign only lasted twenty four hours.

Pathetic. And now, Kane was probably still whimpering on his big brother's shoulder just because he got a bit too close to a fire he hadn't lit himself. Or he could have recuperated by now and be on a destroying rampage. Batista felt a slight uneasiness at the thought, and decided to check on the Kane situation a bit later that night. He had already a Deadman to worry about, no need for another rabid monster really.

But for now Batista focused on the small TV screen he had installed in his locker room. Watching the Undertaker in action as much as possible couldn't hurt, he supposed, even if it was against an opponent as ridiculous as The Miz.

Batista let a smirk grace his face as he turned off the TV. Oh, the Deadman was pissed alright. Downright vicious in this match you could say. He had deliberately pulled the helpless Miz out of a merciful three fall and continued to beat on him until he finally got tired of it, ended the match, and performed a beautifully executed Last Ride that destroyed both the ex-reality show star and the announce table. The Animal got the message, loud and clear. It was just like Hunter had taught him back when he was in evolution. Triple H's rough voice echoed in his mind.

_This is a game Dave. You've got to play by the rules, but first you've got to know them. Intimidate your opponent. Look unstoppable, confident. When you sense you're at a disadvantage, back off, don't retaliate immediately. Let it slide. You will be underestimated. If you work alone, use every trick in the book to get back the advantage. Don't feel any remorse, don't hesitate. It's all legal when the ref doesn't see it, and it's all legal as well when it's not a match and nobody proves it's you. Always strike at the most unexpected moment. But first and foremost, you've got to know your enemy. Study him, find his weaknesses. Get in his head. Once you've got all the elements in hand, you'll not only be playing this game, you'll be the master of it._

Batista knew that right now he was at a disadvantage. A chokeslam and a serious threat last Monday, a demonstration of a devastating Last Ride just a few moments ago, not to mention the fact that he still had to defend his title tonight. He was fairly confident against Kennedy, but a loss here would definitively put him out of the game. All he could do for now was try to get back the advantage in the psychological warfare. Time to play the card of studying the adversary. Should be easy enough right now, the Taker had just come back from his "match". A little look around couldn't hurt, right?

His match with Kennedy was at the end of the show. Batista had ample time to do the job. His priority here was to not get injured. An air of confidence on his face, but inside extremely on his guard, the Animal went to the Big Red Machine's locker room. He and his brother were together on Raw, and Batista wondered what exactly their relationship was at this point in time. If Taker really cared, and looked out for Kane himself and not just his own pride, it would be easier for Batista to work that new-found brotherly love of his and get inside the Taker's head.

Problem was, nobody was in Kane's locker room. Batista frowned as he considered what to do next. Was the risk of a confrontation worth the knowledge he could get from it? Hunter would have probably backed off by now, unless he had two or three members of Evolution with him. Dave was not Hunter. And backing off was not his style. A billion-dollar body and a two-cent brain, Hunter would have said; but Batista was not stupid. He was just ready to take more risk to get what he wanted. Throwing caution to the wind, he headed down a path he had visualized in his mind for days, and once again found himself in front of the Deadman's door. Anyway, with the Tag Team match coming up on Raw next Monday, they will have to be face to face one way or another. One dollar question : would the Baby Brother be there too? If that was the case, Batista may find himself in deep, deep shit. Taking his time, the Animal pondered his actions for some moments. A shower was running inside the locker room. Good.

Suddenly, before Batista had the time to either barge in or run away, the door was opened, and the Animal looked into the strangely mismatched eyes of Kane. The Big Red Monster was said to have only one good eye, hence the different colours, but staring straight into them right now, Dave was sure that both eyes could see perfectly well. No dead eye could display that much emotion. In an instant, Kane's eyes reflected surprise, a flicker of fear, then pure, insane hate.

Batista could barely see the fist coming. He did feel it crashing on his jaw. The force of the blow threw him back on the wall behind him. Dazed, he tried to gather himself, but was grabbed by two powerful hands, jerked around and thrown into the Brothers of Destruction's locker room. He collided with a bench in the middle of the room, which broke under his weight. Immediately Kane was on him with a furious cry. Batista covered up as punches rained on him, trying to sustain the least damage possible. So much for taking it easy. The blows continued to fall, hard and irregular, on Batista's upper body and arms. Through the pain, the Animal only thought of one thing: protect the head. His armour of muscles could protect the rest of his body, but if his head was hit, he was finished. Protect the head. It lasted less than a minute, really, but to Batista it seemed an eternity until a voice finally saved him from his ordeal.

"Kane. Let him go."

The blows stopped.

"But..."

"Let him go."

The weight pinning him to the ground was lifted, and Batista slowly and cautiously uncovered.

"Come here, Kane."

Looking up, Batista saw Kane obey, walking up to his brother and staying close to him. Staring down at the fallen Animal with a stoic look on his face was the Phenom. A wet, completely naked Phenom too. Apparently just coming out of an interrupted shower. Batista closed his eyes. He was dead. He was sure he was dead now. He was going to get killed by two deranged monsters, and the last image he would see was a very well endowed Undertaker. Life hated him.

The Animal waited, resigned, for a death blow, but nothing happened. Instead, the Phenom was talking to his brother, as if Batista was not even in the room.

"You know I told you not to put your hands on him without my permission", Taker said with a stern tone in his voice, like a parent reprimanding a child for stealing a candy.

"But Bro, he was listening at our door!"

Looking up, Batista saw a scene he could only describe as surreal. Kane and the Undertaker were standing close to each other, Taker still naked and not looking troubled by this state in the least. He had put a protective hand on the back of Kane's neck who seemed to be used to the gesture, to reassure him or restrain him Batista wasn't sure. Then the cold green eyes of the reaper focused on him. The same amused and somehow menacing glint returned in the Undertaker's gaze.

"Are you going to stay like this forever, Batista? Or maybe you like to lie on your back..."

_Bastard_ .

Batista got swiftly to his feet, checking himself for any injury. Nothing, he found with relief. Maybe something could be salvage from this fiasco after all.

The two brothers were still standing disturbingly close to each other, obviously perfectly at ease now. Kane seemed to have been completely appeased by Taker's presence, and had a look of contentment on his face as his older brother stroked lightly the back of his neck. Undertaker never took his eyes off Batista.

Despite his reason screaming at him to quietly get out of there, Batista couldn't help it. He stayed, mesmerized by the sight before him. Batista's eyes followed a single drop coming off Taker's wet dark locks. The small drop of water travelled down the muscled neck, traced the hard chest, lingered on the hips before sliding down the long thigh and continuing its course to die at the ankle. Long, muscled limbs, proportioned for perfect balance, skin adorned by black ink, telling the story of darkness and life. Batista's mouth went dry as he recognized the first signs of an insatiable lust beginning to burgeon in his gut. God how he wanted this man. He wanted him in the ring, as an opponent or a partner, and now he wanted him in his bed, wondering what kind of screams the Deadman cried when he had an orgasm. To be able to possess that man would be the sweetest of bliss. Batista was taken out of his day dreaming by a cold voice.

"Get out. Now."

"What..."

"Look at the screen, moron. Someone's throwing you a pop card."

Indeed someone was. Mr Kennedy had taken the mic and was mouthing out his usual babble. Except this time he was saying he deserved to face the Undertaker at Wrestlemania more than Batista did. It was like shaking a red cloth in front of the eyes of a bull. The Animal saw red and busted off the brothers' locker room, still feeling the Undertaker's eyes lingering on his back as he ran to the ring.

* * *

Batista sighed as he not-so-patiently let the trainers examine his left arm. A few moments before, he had interrupted Kennedy's cocky speech about who deserved to be the World Champion. A brawl had ensued, during which Batista had wanted nothing more than to maim and harm Kennedy permanently. Unfortunately, it was the Animal himself who had hit a ring post at full speed, and now he had to check for any injury. Could this night go any worse? Oh, wait it could. He could loose his belt to Kennedy. At that thought a deep anger bubbled inside him again. Batista smirked, relieved. He was still in the game.

God how he hated those doctors. He felt no pain, could move his arm properly, and still they insisted on keeping him for a while, just to be sure, they said. So he was stuck in a clinic smelling white room with lots of beds and faceless medical personal. Twenty minutes until his championship match. Batista closed his eyes, trying to regain his focus. He knew Kennedy well, and while this would not be an easy match, Batista still had the advantage in strength and endurance, as well as experience. As long as he kept his cool and didn't collide stupidly with a ring post again, he should be fine.

"Hello, partner."

Batista jumped out of the bed he was laying in, fell hard on his backside and immediately rolled to a corner of the room where he stopped, squatted down and eyes wide like a deer caught in traffic light.

The Undertaker was standing on the doorway, as stoic as ever, with only a slight amused smile on his face. However, the smile didn't reach his eyes, which were coldly fixed on Batista.

"Why so jumpy? Can't I see how my tag team partner is doing?

"I... I was surprised, that's all."

_God_, thought Batista, _I really need to get myself back together_. Easier said than done, with those disturbing green eyes fixed on him.

"They told me you hurt your arm. Let me see it."

Not a question. Batista knew he had no choice and slowly extended his left arm. His elbow was still a bit sore, and the Animal winced slightly as the Undertaker carefully manipulated his arm.

Moments passed, and Batista started to grow uneasy. The Taker was still looking at his arm with a focused look on his face, saying nothing.

"I told you not to approach Kane anymore."

Batista's head snapped as he looked up at the sudden words. The Undertaker had a strong grip on his arm now, and was glaring at him without a shadow of a smile.

"I wasn't..."

Batista cried out as his arm was twisted painfully and he was pushed back against the wall with violence.

"Shut your mouth! I warned yer sorry ass already. I'm still pissed at you, so you better not even think of looking at Kane right now. You get within twenty feet of my little brother again, and I'm gonna hurt ya."

The strong shouthern accent had crept back into the Undertaker's voice as an effect of anger. It should have made him sound more human, but to Batista he sounded all the more menacing. He could almost feel the acid truth in the man's words, as well as the almost unbearable pressure his elbow was put under. Any more and he would have a broken arm.

"You think this is a big game right? Yeah, I played with Hunter too. Guess what, he lost. I don't mind playing boy, as long as you remember the rules of that fucking game. First rule: you do not. Bring. Kane. Into. It. Hope you got the message, 'cause that's the last time you hear it. Now go win that match."

His arm was released. Blood was pounding in his head, and he instantly knew that he was hurt. He looked up to see the Phenom on his way out, glancing back coldly at him.

"Better have that arm looked at before you get in the ring. We wouldn't want you to loose your belt before Wrestlemania now would we?"

And with that he was gone, leaving Batista alone.

* * *

That goddamn match was finally over. He had thought he would never make it, but he did. He would not be able to use his left arm at one hundred per cent for at least a week, but at least he retained his title, after much pain and suffering. Which was exactly what the Undertaker wanted, he supposed. Dave wanted only one thing now: to end this bad, bad day. He drove back to the hotel as soon as the show was over, crawled into his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.


	5. Teamplay

**Dominance**

**Chapter 5: Teamplay**

**Rating NC-17 for the naughty bit at the end.  
**

_"You love the way I look at you  
While taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through  
You take away, if I give in  
My life,my pride is broken" _

Batista spent most of the week-end laying on his bed, rewinding endlessly in his mind the same scenes that happened during the week: the vicious chokeslam, the dangerous threats, that slight smirk that infuriated Batista whenever he saw it, and those cold, merciless eyes that pierced him with their eery green.

The game had just begun between him and the Undertaker, and he was already several steps behind. Batista sighed. This wasn't going at all like he had planned! He had followed Hunter's advices though. He had struck first, by attacking the person who was the closest to the Undertaker, which had the desired effect since Taker chose him as his opponent. Then Batista conceded the advantage to Taker with that chokeslam, and he had intended to lay low for a while. This was where things went wrong. He should have been able to regain control by now, but the Deadman kept throwing him off balance.

Why? He had played with the Game himself a few years ago, and won! Why wasn't it working right now? Why? Shawn Michaels' words echoed in his mind, not for the first time: _You don't know him at all, and I suggest you keep it that way. You're better off ignoring certain things, or you'll soon be completely swallowed in his darkness. Trust me, I know. _Was that the answer? Was it that "Darkness" the Undertaker seemingly possessed that Batista couldn't reach no matter what he did? If that was the case, what could he do?

The Animal violently threw the innocent glass of wine he had been drinking from into the wall, where it shattered noisily. Fuck! This was so frustrating! And to top it all, they were now tag team partners. What the hell did Vince smoke to pull off that one? And more importantly, what the hell was he supposed to do? Play it all Mr Nice Guy and keep his tail between his legs until Wrestlemania? No way. He would blow off before that. So what?

_When in doubt, go back to the sources._ Copyright Ric Flair for that one. Maybe the old man wasn't completely senile yet, Batista thought fondly. Dave couldn't think of anything else to do for the moment anyway. He got up, and did something he hadn't done for two years. He called his former mentor, Hunter Hearst Helmsey.

He dialled the numbers and put the phone to his ear, wondering how Triple H would react. He knew the former champion had changed since the reunion of DX a few months ago, but there was no reason why he shouldn't still hate Batista. Finally, Hunter picked up his phone.

"Yeah?"

"Hello Hunter."

"...Dave?"

"Yeah, it's me. Now if you don't want to talk to me I'll understand but..."

"Hey Big Dave! It's good to hear you! How are you doing man? Still the Champ, I bet. God it's been what, two years? Oh, and by the way, I'm still hurting from our Hell in a Cell match. You really threw me around that day..."

Dave listened to Hunter's babble, more than a little taken aback. Hunter paused.

"Ah, I bet you're surprised huh? Didn't you learn anything Dave? Always be one step ahead of everybody. Now tell me what's bugging you enough to make you call me, and make it quick, 'cause I've got rehab to do."

"How well do you know the Undertaker?"

"You wanna play with the ol' Taker himself? Big Dave, I'm proud of you, I wish you lots of fun, and I promise I'll be there for your funeral."

"Funny. But I'm serious Hunter. It's only been a week, and I'm almost out of the game already."

"Relax Dave, I'm with you. I also know you're gonna team up with him on Monday right? Okay, now listen. I know you want your revenge for that chokeslam a few days ago. But for God's sake, keep that temper of yours in check for now, and _stay low_. You are his partner, act like it. Spend time with him. He won't hurt his tag team partner. Just trust me for now okay? Be as aggressive as you can in the ring with other opponents. You've got to make him feel your presence, but you've got to wait for the right moment, when his focus will be completely elsewhere."

"Don't tell me you're singing the "revenge is a dish best served cold" song again."

"You bet your ass I am. Every game has got rules Dave, but that doesn't mean you can't bend them a little. You've got to make the Taker consider you fully as his tag team partner for now. Redirect his attention on Cena and Shawn. This shouldn't be too hard, considering the history he has with our little showstopper. And no I'm not telling you anything about that, so don't even think of asking."

"Alright, alright. But..."

"For Fuck's sake Dave! How long are you going to stall ? Where is the Animal I know? Are you scared or what?"

"I'm not scared," growled Batista.

"Good, 'cause if you feel scared, at any moment, in front of this man, he'll know it, and you'll have lost. This is just another game big man, but this time you've got a tough, tough player in front of you."

"Okay. Thanks Hunter."

"No problem Big Dave. And don't worry, I'll take care of everything, you'll have a nice little casket buried in a beautiful little place. Or maybe you'd prefer to be incinerated? In that case, I know a guy who makes really great urns."

"Fuck you."

And Batista hung up. A toothy smirk appeared on his face. Speaking to a man he had defeated several times was always good to get back in a good mood. Hunter was right though. For now at least, Taker and he were partners. A good opportunity to get closer to the man, as long as he kept clear from Kane. Damn, was the Undertaker protective or what?

And while Batista was firing up for the next Raw show, one question kept nagging the back of his mind: what would it feel like to have the Undertaker in his corner, as his ally?

* * *

Monday Night Raw. Batista's confidence was fully restored. He couldn't afford to show any weakness right now, not after last week's fiasco. To be frank, he was also curious. Hunter told him the Taker would treat him as a partner, no matter what happened before, and that this was his chance to approach the Deadman again and try to smooth things.

Speaking of partners, here was the Heart Break Kid. At the sight of the older man, Batista immediately felt his anger stir in his gut. He hated that guy. A deep, instinctive hate that he knew would never go away. Had Dave been a little more self-questioning, he would have wondered what made him hate Shawn Michaels so much. And he would have found the answer was most likely to be jealousy. But Dave had never been self-questioning, and he wasn't about to start now.

All Batista could think of right now was the way Shawn Michaels had been able to approach the Phenom, to talk to him, and to have seemingly gained his trust. He hated him for this, and really couldn't fathom how he would be able to stand the fact that the Heart Break Kid was going to be his partner tonight, as well as the Undertaker's partner.

"Yo big man, whatcha doin' staring at HBK like that? You checkin' him out?"

The words were spoken in a light tone, but the glint Batista saw in John Cena's eyes as he turned to the WWE Champion betrayed the lingering threat. Dave was not in a good mood, so he replied venomously:

"Ah, so the rumours are true then, Michaels has found a new fuck-toy. Seems like he couldn't hold out until Triple H returns after all..."

Batista's taunts had the desired effect on the Champ, who jumped on the Animal with the clear intent of making him eat his own teeth. Exactly what Batista needed to blow off some steam. The two of them brawled like there was no tomorrow, exchanging punches and kicks with the same rage, until finally Batista gained the advantage by sending the Champ to the ground. But the Animal didn't have enough. He continued his assault as Cena tried to cover up. He was vaguely aware of shouts in the background, calling for security, telling him to stop. He didn't listen. All the pent-up frustration he had accumulated from last week seemed to release in that one moment, at he pummelled Cena to the ground. His feeling of helplessness after the chokeslam, the rage he felt at the sight of Michaels, the insatiable fascination for the Phenom that he couldn't control, he poured all of it in his fists. With an enraged cry, he was about to finish Cena off, when a small weight threw itself on him and made him loose his balance. The Heart Break Kid was holding his right arm tightly, trying to protect his Tag Team partner.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Michaels bellowed in Batista's ear.

_You are what's wrong with me._ The Animal didn't actually say those words, but the deadly glare he sent at Shawn spoke for him. HBK was slightly taken aback by the pure hate he felt burning in those eyes, and loosened his grip long enough for Batista to get out of it.

"What is happening here?" asked a deep voice that sent chills of anticipation through Dave's spine.

"That fucking partner of yours is completely out of control, that's what's happening!"

The Undertaker sent a coldly uninterested glance at John Cena who had gotten off the ground and was holding his jaw, completely furious. Batista clenched his teeth before he could say something stupid like "he hit me first!" in front of the Deadman, and was disappointed to see that Cena had apparently not been damaged as much as he would have liked.

"Really? But it seems like my "fucking partner" can kick your ass easily nonetheless. It'll be interesting to see how you fare against him at No Way Out boy. Now I suggest you get out of our way. We'll meet you in the ring."

Batista was dumbstruck. Did the Undertaker just stand out for him? And did he just say "we", as in, he and Batista? Apparently he did, because the Deadman was already walking, motioning for Dave to follow him.

"Wait", Shawn Michaels said, holding them back. "Shouldn't we at least talk a little for our match? We're gonna have to team up you know."

"There is no talking to be done," the Deadman said icily without even looking back. "Whoever gets the tag, gets in and beats the opponent down. If you feel you can't go on, tag out."

"That's all? Shouldn't we..."

"It's no use talking strategy now. Let's just try not to hit each other and it should be fine. Now if you'll excuse us."

Again, that "us". Batista gave HBK a superior smirk and followed the Deadman as he walked away. They walked in silence for a while, Batista slightly behind the Undertaker, doing his best to look subdued. As they neared the Deadman's locker room, Batista finally decided to speak up.

"Thanks, I really didn't want to stick around those guys any longer than necessary."

"Do not thank me", was the reply. "I only did what was best. It's obvious you and Cena can't coexist right now. But do try to control yourself tonight."

"Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away."

"Indeed."

There was none of the aggressiveness he'd felt last week in Taker's tone. There was... nothing. As if nothing happened between the two. That more than anything rattled the Animal deeply.

"About last week..."

"Forget about it," interrupted the Phenom. "For now at least, let's focus on our matches. We gotta coexist, and do so efficiently. I'll let what you did to Kane slide for now. Besides, with the beating you took from Kennedy last week, I consider that I got a measure of revenge, don't you think?" the Taker added with a smirk.

He was being teased, Batista knew, but there was strangely no malice in the Phenom's voice. He chose not to reply to that, not sure of how to handle this change of mood. This was the man who damn near put him on the shelf a few days ago by injuring his arm. Then Batista realized what the Undertaker was doing. He was applying precisely what Hunter told Dave to do: to catch you opponent off guard, to get in his head, to show strength and confidence until the big encounter at Wrestlemania. So the Taker was still leading the dance, wasn't he? Feeling he couldn't regain the advantage for now, Batista went along, and followed his soon to be tag team partner to his locker room. The Phenom opened the door himself, and invited the Animal with mock courtesy. Batista entered cautiously into the Deadman's lair.

"Hey Big Brother", a familiar voice called, "where did ya go?"

Kane had begun to walk casually to his brother to welcome him, but stopped short at the sight of the Animal, and eyed him distrustingly.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"Calm down Kane. He's my guest at the time. We have to set things straight before the match."

"Set things straight? You know what that son of a bitch did to me!"

"We already talked about that little brother. You'll have your revenge, I promise you, just not now."

Batista watched the exchange, slightly bewildered, as Kane crossed his arms and turned his back to them in an incredibly childish behaviour. Taker sighed, and took Kane by the arm to drag him in another room, motioning for Batista to wait where he was.

Dave watched the door close behind them. So the brothers were still close. With their on and off relationship over the past few years, you never knew if one had turned on the other or not. But since Batista's attack ten days ago, Kane seemed to have become very dependant on his older brother. Or was it the Undertaker who had become too protective? Either way, that was not really important to Batista right now. Hunter had been right: the rules of the game had changed since last week. Taker and he were partners now, and all of the Taker's aggressiveness was directed at their opponents: Michaels and Cena.

Batista smirked confidently as he sat comfortably in the Deadman's locker room. Knowing the Undertaker was in your corner was a great feeling, as well as a great rush. Dave was already planning for after-match celebrations, maybe he could even offer the Taker a drink. From what he's seen a couple of days ago, Taker had a very nice package. The Animal certainly wouldn't mind having such a creature in his bed.

Batista was pulled out of his obsessive daydreaming by the two brothers coming back in. Kane had a petulant look on his face, which morphed into a disturbing grin when he set his mismatched eyes on Batista. Slightly unnerved by the unbalanced gaze, Batista swore never to turn his back on Kane in the near future, even though Taker seemed to control his little brother pretty well. You could never be too careful.

The Deadman sat in front of him, crossing his long legs.

"Now boy, let's talk."

What followed was forty minutes of intense discussion on Batista's wrestling style, his differences with the Undertaker's, and how to combine the two in order to obtain the best offense power without lacking in defence. Surprisingly Kane participated too, and quite efficiently. Looking back at Kane's title history, Batista realized that the Big Red Machine had held the Tag Team Championship belts with partners ranging from the lightweight Hurricane to the five hundred pounds Big Show. Such a successful polyvalence could not be overlooked easily.

By the time they were done, Batista was listening more to the Undertaker's deep voice, which was quite melodious when it wasn't uttering death threats, than to what was really said. The Deadman noticed it, chuckled and called for a recess, for which Batista was extremely thankful. He then sent the Animal back to his own locker room.

"We'll meet in the ring in a half an hour. Try not to murder Cena or Michaels until then."

* * *

Victory. Utter and complete victory. Over their opponents for the eight men tag match of course, Orton, Edge, MVP and Kennedy never stood a chance as far as he was concerned, but also over their opponents at No Way Out. Batista had had a hard time containing a grin during the match when he'd seen Shawn Michaels being pushed into the Undertaker. He could have warned his partner that the bump had not been intentional, but then he wouldn't have had the joy of seeing HBK, the icon, the showstopper, being chokeslammed out of his boots by the Deadman he was supposedly in good terms with. What followed next, Batista would have never dreamed it would go so well. He acted on instinct, really. Seeing Cena attack the Undertaker had made him furious, and he had jumped in the ring to pummel once again the WWE Champ. At that moment, Batista had felt perfectly at ease. He'd known what the Undertaker was going to do, and had no trouble following it with a devastating powerbomb. It'd been exhilarating. Everything had flowed smoothly, as if the two of them had been partners for years.

After the Raw superstars had been laid waste at their hands, he and the Undertaker had returned backstage, and the Deadman had immediately disappeared in his locker room. Batista had not tried to follow him. He too liked to have his privacy after a match. He'd taken a hot shower and changed already when Shawn Michaels, looking worse for wear, knocked at his door.

"What do you want?" The Animal asked, frowning, not letting HBK come into his room.

"To talk", was the sharp answer. "You didn't hear a word I said last week, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"About keeping away from the Deadman, dumbass! You're playing with fire like a four year old who doesn't know what he is doing. And believe me, one way or another, you're gonna get burned."

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Michaels. But I'm not like you. I'm not weak. I'm not afraid of finding out exactly what kind of a monster the Deadman is, if he is that monster you keep babbling about."

Shawn shook his head, looking almost sad.

"It's too late then, I guess I can't say anything to dissuade you. I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Take a look at your beloved partner right now, but keep in mind I tried to warn you."

And with those enigmatic words, the Heartbreak Kid was gone.

Batista never backed down from a challenge. He wasn't like Shawn Michaels, and he certainly wasn't intimidated by the so-called "darkness" of the Undertaker's world. He was stronger than Michaels. He could take it and not be destroyed by it.

With confident and powerful strides, he headed once again to the Deadman's locker room, noticing with amusement that the nearer he got, the less people he saw. The area surrounding Taker's locker room was looking more and more like a no man's land. Taking a deep breath, Batista knocked, three times.

No answer. Batista was not a very patient man. He put his hand on the door handle, and pushed. It wasn't locked, to Batista's surprise. Then again, he reasoned, few people would dare to enter uninvited anyway, so he supposed the Taker just didn't think locking his door was that useful or worth the effort.

With a little trepidation, he pushed the door wide open and walked in arrogantly.

"Hey Taker! Seems like we make a pretty good team after all..."

Batista stopped short as two emerald eyes gazed lazily at him. The Undertaker was comfortably sitting on a bench in a corner of his room, head leant back and legs slightly spread. Between his legs was Kane, on his knees, obviously in the middle of pleasuring his half brother. Batista noted absently that both brothers were wearing casual clothes. Upon hearing Batista's voice, Kane had immediately tried to stop what he was doing and stand up, but his brother wouldn't allow it. The Undertaker was keeping Kane's head in place with both hands, forcing his little brother to keep his cock inside his mouth. Kane was by now completely still, trying to breath as much as possible through his nose and around his brother's hard prick.

Batista stood there, mouth open and mind absolutely blank as he tried to comprehend what seeing the two brothers in such a position meant. Seeing his dismay, the Undertaker chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to shake Batista awake.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The Deadman raised an ironic eyebrow.

"What do you think, _Dave_?" he drawled, as he massaged his younger brother's scalp.

Kane still hadn't moved, but looked incredibly tense, as if his body was straining against an invisible force. Batista's vision was swirling. The scene seemed surreal.

"This is sick", he finally forced out, "you are sick."

"Really? How so? I'm not forcing Kane to do anything he doesn't want to. You are the one who barged in uninvited. If you can't deal with the situation, then leave."

The last words were spoken in a husky tone. The Undertaker was caressing the back of Kane's neck, tracing small circles with his fingers and urging his brother to resume the blowjob. Kane obliged without resistance, having seemingly decided to ignore Batista's presence and focus on his brother, and soon his head was bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm between Taker's legs.

Taker's head fell back with a sigh, and he closed his eyes, his pink tongue darting obscenely through his lips. He then opened his eyes and, smirking, leered at Batista who was still standing there as if mesmerized by the sight.

"Maybe you would like to take Kane's place, Dave?"

The amused words broke the spell, and Batista jolted out of the locker room. He ran through the hallway and dashed in the first empty room he found. Sweating profusely, he locked the door and leaned against it as he felt his knees buckle under him, and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

Only then did he notice the very uncomfortable hard bulge straining the front of his trousers.


	6. Lust

**Dominance**

**Chapter 6: Lust**

**Hawt man on man action in this one! Easily offended people, go away! (though if there had been any easily offended people reading my fic, they would have been scared away by the incest thing in the last chapter…)**

Batista desperately needed a hot, strong drink to calm his nerves. It was late at night, but the silent darkness did nothing to appease him as he slumped on the couch, bottle in hand. He'd taken care of his arousal the only way he knew: a quickly selected one-night fuck. His partner had been willing enough, and he'd furiously fucked her into oblivion without a hint of gentleness. Usually, after such a session, he was physically as well as mentally satisfied. He'd used the lithe brunette young woman as much as he wanted, bending her in everyway possible and kept on fucking her until he couldn't even feel his legs anymore. And still, it wasn't enough. The images of the Undertaker and Kane in the locker room were burnt in his mind, and he couldn't shake them off. He was also very aware that the partner he had chosen had surprisingly green eyes. The resemblance stopped there of course, but Batista wasn't stupid. He knew he needed that man, and he needed to have him quick if he didn't want to go crazy.

The sexual attraction didn't really bother him, but rather took him by surprise. Seeing his rival get pleasured, by his own half-brother no less, had been such a turn-on he barely had the time to analyse it. His first reaction had been reject, of course. Brothers weren't supposed to engage in sexual relationships. It wasn't _normal_, by any definition. But that was where the problem was. Could either Kane, the Undertaker, or even Batista himself be defined as _normal_? They beat each other up for a living. Something had to be seriously wrong with them. And as Taker said to him, they were both consenting.

Batista was not one to dwell over moral issues for very long. His time in Evolution had taught him to accept things as they were, and deal with them quickly. Which he did by remembering the wonderful sight of the Undertaker, legs spread, head thrown back, features a mask of blissful satisfaction. He wanted to be the one to spark so much life into the Deadman, and he vowed to take that man, whatever the cost was, as once again he climbed back on his bed and roughly took his relief. Smackdown would be an interesting show.

* * *

Wednesday night. He had had dinner with a lovely woman who kept looking at him with an awe-struck look on her face. He had her already hooked, all he had to do was be his charming self, then he had invited her into his hotel room, and would have spent a nice time making her scream his name. However, there had been a slight problem. He had forgotten _her_ name. She realized it, made a scene just before they got into his room, slapped him, ran away in tears and left him high and dry before his door. Thankfully, no one had really seen the scene. It would have ruined his _face_ reputation. Batista was ready to just go in his bed and spend the evening alone, although he was not too happy about that perspective, but a familiar voice hold him back.

"So even the great Dave Batista can't get a girl every time he wants?"

Batista sighed. So much for not being seen. And, of all people, it had to be _that_ man. Practically the only man on the Smackdown roster who was taller and as large as Batista was. Kane. Kane, who had a grudge against him, and who would have taken his head off if not for the Undertaker. However, big brother was nowhere in sight, and Batista took a ready stance, just in case the Big Red Monster decided he wanted to fight. But that was not the case.

"Relax, I'm not looking for trouble."

"What are you doing here then?"

Kane smirked, a toothy smile that sent chills down the Animal's spine.

"You look like you could use a drink."

"Right. And you think I'm gonna buy that?"

"Why not? Your evening is spoilt already. Don't tell me you're afraid of me..."

"I'm not afraid," interrupted Batista.

Dave was aware that he sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn't help it. If he was afraid, or even the slightest bit intimidated by Kane, he would also be afraid of the Undertaker. And he couldn't afford that.

"So why not just accept? I won't do anything, I swear. Taker made it clear that he wanted you for himself. You know, when you think about it, that's just not fair... how come he always gets the most interesting toys? He never lets me play with them too!"

"Alright, alright! I'm coming with you, but please, quit your whining, it's really creepy."

That just got him another weird smile from Kane, and off they went.

_I can't believe I actually agreed to this._

As Dave expected, sitting at a bar with the Undertaker's baby brother late at night was _not_ a good plan. Not only was the alcohol shit, but so far all he had done was wait awkwardly for whatever Kane had to say and try not to fidget while doing so. Patience was not his forte, and he was ready to say, "screw this" and go home when finally Kane decided to break his mutism.

"He is awesome, isn't he? My brother..."

Batista coughed and sputtered, spitting back in his glass the disgusting beer he had been drinking. When he finally caught his breath under the amused eye of Kane, he paused and tried to think.

"He is", he said sincerely. "I can't wait to be in the ring with him again. But make no mistake, no matter how awesome he is, I will beat him, and retain my title at Wrestlemania."

"Yes, yes, of course you will", said Kane rather dismissively. "Now here comes the important question: What do you think the Undertaker think of you?"

"I think he fears me," answered Batista, trying to sound more confident than he really was.

"Tuuut. Wrong answer. Taker doesn't fear anybody, and you damn well know it. No, he doesn't fear you one bit, but for someone who is supposed to be all dead, cold and merciless, he looks very alive when you're around."

"He loves a challenge, just like me."

"Possible, but that means you're in big trouble. The last time he was like that was ten years ago, and it brought nothing but pain and suffering. I don't suppose you've talked to Shawn Michaels about it, did you?"

Dave's eyes widened as he remembered all of Shawn's mysterious warnings.

"He mentioned something like that to me. But I'm not him. Undertaker won't destroy me like he did Michaels."

Kane's face had become grave, and he was staring at his glass, with an unspeakable grief in his eyes.

"You're right, he won't destroy you. Right now he's playing with you, and let me tell you something: you're losing. You are falling in the darkness, slowly, bit by bit, just like Shawn did. I know the pattern. Soon you won't be able to think of anything but the Deadman. You already want him don't you? That attraction will taint your soul and take away your sanity."

_CRASH_

Batista smashed his glass on the counter, not feeling the shards that pierced the skin of his palm and made him bleed. He had heard enough. He viciously grabbed Kane by his collar and snarled to his face:

"And you know all about it don't you? After all, I saw what you sick, demented bastards do. Tell me Kane, do you allow your big brother to fuck you because your soul is so "tainted" by him you can't resist him?"

A sadistic smile has begun to grow on Batista's lips. He pressed his advantage, knowing he'd hit a sore spot.

"The Big Red Baby Brother. Since Wrestlemania 15 you've been nothing more than Taker's bitch, and the whole locker room knows it. But I didn't know I had to take it literally! You're..."

Batista couldn't finish his sentence: Kane's fist had contacted with the Animal's chin in a thunderous uppercut. Batista staggered, but didn't loose his smile. Perfect. With a laugh, he launched himself into a violent brawl. He wanted to loose himself in the fight, to battle until everything went blank, until his mind was finally... at peace.

* * *

Bruises and aches all over his body, and he could care less. Kane had been as eager to fight as he had, and both men left satisfied, although there had been no decisive winner.

When Batista met the Undertaker again for their tag team match on Smackdown, no comment was made, for which the Animal was grateful. He was still somewhat disturbed by the obviously incestuous relationship between the two half-brothers, and shocked at himself for caring so little about it. All that mattered to Batista was the present, and right now he had to win this match, and enjoy the feeling of having the Deadman as his partner.

The Undertaker was taking a shower. An act so simple, yet somehow it didn't sound right. Nothing should have been simple when it came to that man, nothing should have been ordinary. But if Batista had learned anything from the past few weeks, it was that the Deadman was anything but dead. He was made of flesh and blood, a body that could ache and tire. He was ice outside the ring, fire inside. Each move he performed meant something, each blow was charged with emotion. Dave couldn't help his fascination.

The show had been over for a long time now. Another gruelling battle had been fought, and, as usual, the Taker had disappeared in his locker room right after the match. But that time, Batista was determined to corner the man, even if he had to wait all night. Which he damn well almost did. The Animal had almost fallen asleep when finally some sign of activity was heard – a shower running. That was enough to jolt Batista awake in an instant. He had intended to wait until the Undertaker had come out to confront him, but now he had a much better idea. Taker would be alone, nude, relaxed. He would be caught completely by surprise. Vulnerable. That was exactly what Dave needed. Confrontation in the ring wasn't enough anymore. He wanted more of that man. He knew this attraction was bordering on obsession, and was anything but healthy, but he didn't care. Besides, he was almost certain that the Deadman found him interesting as well. That green stare, the intensity he felt in the ring couldn't be just a fluke. That kind of chemistry didn't happen often, not at that level. In the ring, with each forceful blow, each headlock and slam, they touched, felt, breathed each other like no one else had before.

Batista felt a pang of jealousy thinking that, in his much longer career, the Undertaker had probably already felt that kind of connection with other wrestlers. For Batista it was the first time, and he needed it, he craved that "connection", that heady feeling which came over him every time he was in the presence of the Phenom.

Taking a deep breath, he made his decision, walked up to the door of the locker room, pushed it, felt no resistance, and entered the Deadman's ground. Confidence growing, he followed the sound of water, licking his lips, imagining what he would find.

And boy did he find it! His back to Batista, facing the wall and obviously enjoying a nice hot shower, was the Undertaker, in all his muscled, wet and nude glory. Apparently the man wasn't aware of his presence yet, so Dave took advantage of the moment and drank in the sight before him.

Smirking at the feeling of superiority, Batista detailed his rival unabashedly. He started from the neck, where the dancing skeleton seemed to taunt him amidst long dark locks. Rivulets of water dribbled down a broad and muscled back, whose skin was surprisingly inkless, and narrow hips. Batista's eyes lingered a bit on the tight-looking ass, before going down the incredibly long legs and up again to the upper body. The Animal licked his lips again. Everything about that man screamed danger, but all he could see was the perfection beneath, honed by years of training and fighting.

Batista knew he had to move quickly if he wanted to keep the upper hand. Taker still hadn't noticed his presence, and seemed to have his eyes closed.

In a heartbeat, the younger man closed the distance between them and pressed his powerful body against the Undertaker's back, pinning him against the wall, not caring if he got wet in the process. The Deadman let out a yelp of surprise and instantly began to struggle, twisting and bucking, but to no avail. Batista had taken a firm hold on his wrists, and was pressing them against the wall with all his strength, careful not to let any leverage to the older man.

The Undertaker may have been taller, but Batista was larger, and in terms of brute strength, he was slightly more powerful. After a few unsuccessful attempts to escape, the Taker finally stilled, resting his forehead on the wall. The shower was still running, Batista's pants and T-shirt were soaked, and he could care less. The heady feeling had returned, stronger than ever. He had the Undertaker cornered, trapped, at his mercy. He did not make the mistake of releasing his grip, knowing his rival was still dangerous, and waited. Finally, Taker turned his head to the left and looked at his aggressor over his shoulder with slightly wide eyes. Batista instantly felt himself drowning in the green that seemed to pierce his soul. Not knowing what to say, and deciding that actions spoke louder than words, Dave began to nuzzle the Undertaker's neck, licking and nipping at the soft skin he found under the ear, sucking on the earlobe, tracing the tattoos with his tongue from the neck down to the shoulder, even kissing gently the dancing skeleton on the back of the neck. The Deadman didn't protest, and Batista slowly felt the tension leave the older man's body as he continued his ministrations.

Sensing no further resistance, he eased his grip on Taker's wrists. From what his experience told him, the Undertaker played by his own set of rules. If Batista had correctly decrypted them, the fact that he was caught unaware meant a defeat he had to concede. The Animal still didn't understand all the rules of this game, but for now he was sure of one thing: he had won this battle, the Undertaker wouldn't resist him. At least he hoped so.

Telling himself this was a do or die, that he could not afford to show any weakness if he wanted to stay in control, he stuck his tongue behind Taker's ear, eliciting a soft gasp, and let his hands travel back along Taker's arms, in a slow caress from the wrists to the shoulders. In one fluid motion, still nibbling on Taker's neck for distraction, he firmly took the Deadman's jaw with his right hand while his left hand dove down and encased the half-hard cock he found between the legs. Hearing a sharp intake of breath, he stopped kissing the neck and stilled, still holding Taker's heavy manhood. Slowly, he used his right hand to turn Taker's head to the left, looked straight into the unblinking eyes, and claimed his rival's lips. The kiss was hot, demanding, and the Animal did not let go until he finally felt the Undertaker relax again, accepting the kiss and surrendering to Batista's touch. As a reward, the younger man started caressing the now fully erect prick in his hand, delighted to hear a repressed moan. Grinning like a madman now, Batista switched his caress from Taker's cock to Taker's balls, cupping them, making them roll in his hand, while letting his free hand roam on his rival's torso, paying particular attention to the tightened nipples.

By now the Undertaker had closed his eyes and was enjoying the ministrations, his head leant against Batista's shoulder, his back fully flushed against the younger man's front. The warm contact between them, a sharp contrast to the rest of his body, which was starting to cool under his wet clothes, made the Animal very aware of the uncomfortable erection which strained against his trousers and, of course, was grinding against Taker's ass.

The water had stopped running. As sweet as their current position was, Batista wanted to move on before they both suffered hypothermia. He let go of Taker's cock, hearing a hiss of protest, and put both his hands on the narrow hips, motioning for his rival to turn around. The Undertaker obliged, and soon they were face to face. Wasting no time, Batista backed the Undertaker against the wall, sank to his knees, pinned the other man's hips firmly, opened his mouth and took the Phenom's cock into it without warning, sucking aggressively. He was satisfied to hear a surprised yelp, and felt strong hands on his head. Swirling his tongue around the thick length, he started a slow rhythm, his head bobbing back and forth, his tongue exploring and teasing all the sensitive spots. In no time, Taker literally growled and purred body tense and hips bucking, when Batista moved his hands from the hips to squeeze a delightfully tight ass.

Not wanting Taker to come before this was over, Batista let go of the now dribbling cock, eliciting a frustrated grunt, and after a moment of admiring the angry red member, turned his attention to the heavy balls instead, sucking and licking them, effectively teasing and distracting the older man as he gently pushed a finger inside Taker's hole.

Batista instantly felt the Undertaker tense, and stroked his thigh and side reassuringly with his free hand, taking the cock back in his mouth. He carefully stretched the Phenom's ass, adding another finger, all the while lightly sucking the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive piss slit with his tongue. The moans and groans of need coming from his rival were music to his ears, but threatened to drive him crazy, and he was sure he would come in his pants if he didn't do something soon.

Adding a third finger, Batista finally found what he was looking for and the Undertaker let out what closely resembled a desperate whimper as his prostate was stroked mercilessly.

As sweet as torturing the Deadman was, Dave couldn't hold out any longer. He stood up, appreciating the glassy look in the eyes of the Taker, and turned the soon-to-be-fucked Phenom around. Pushing the older man against the wall, he finally freed his straining cock, hissing as he felt the cool air against his heated member. Quickly, he reached in his pocket where he knew a condom would be - he had to thank Ric Flair for giving him that habit – and put it on with experience.

Gripping firmly Taker's hips, he positioned himself at the waiting entrance. He paused for a moment, then thought that if the Undertaker didn't want this, he would have made it known by now, and pushed.

Batista was vaguely aware of the keening sound that came from the man beneath him, but what mattered to him right then was the incredible heat he felt surrounding his aching prick. At that point he didn't care if he hurt his partner; he couldn't stop until his cock was deeply rooted in Taker's ass. The pulsing heat around him was almost enough to make him come on the spot. He gritted his teeth and tentatively moved, careful not to embarrass himself. The man that was giving him so much pleasure was resting against the wall, gasping and shivering, trying to adjust to Dave's considerable size.

Very soon though, Batista found himself wanting more of that formidable heat and pressure, and started thrusting forward with all his strength. The Undertaker shouted in what could have been pleasure or pain, and Batista reached around to stroke his partner's cock roughly as he pounded that tight ass. The fire in his groin was nothing like he had ever experienced before, and as much as he wanted this to last, he knew he would be close soon, just like the Taker, judging by the mewls and moans that came from the writhing man beneath him.

Jerking the Deadman's weeping cock, the Animal fucked his rival as hard as he possibly could. Blood pounded in his ears, his whole body seemed to have been set aflame, and a minute or an hour could have passed until, finally, he heard a guttural sound that vibrated through him, and felt the pressure on his cock increase as the Undertaker shot his release. Batista continued stroking the softening prick, milking the other man's orgasm for all it was worth, until he felt his own balls tighten, and exploded in Taker's ass, screaming in white-hot pleasure.

Both men sagged against each other, sinking to their knees together, drained and exhausted. Not a word had been said during the whole encounter.

Batista pulled his softening prick out of Taker's ass with regret, eliciting a soft grunt, took off the condom and tucked himself back in his wet trousers. He put his arms around the other man and held him, utterly satisfied with himself and with the world.

"What are you doing?"

The tone was dry, and Batista felt like a cold shower brought him back to reality as the Undertaker looked at him quizzically.

"I…"

Not knowing what to say, Batista shut his mouth and released his hold before standing up on shaky legs, while the Taker leaned against the wall, still sitting almost casually on the floor and eyeing him through half-shut eyelids.

Batista himself felt uneasy. What had he been thinking, trying to cuddle the Deadman? Such behaviour had no place in the game they played. So why did he want to tenderly embrace his rival and take him to bed to fuck him gently this time?

Firmly repressing such thoughts, Batista tried to get his usual confidence back as the Taker still watched him with a disturbing glint in his eyes, and turned to leave, as was obviously expected of him.

One would have thought that after such a mind-blowing fucking session, the Undertaker would have at least warmed up a little, but no, the Deadman was as inaccessible as ever, thought Batista with a twinge of sadness and disappointment.

He stopped when suddenly a strong hand fell on his shoulder, and a hot breath tickled his ear.

"Not bad at all. Next time, we will play on a bed, and make no mistake, your ass will be mine."

The deep voice sent shivers down Batista's spine, and he idly wondered when the roles had been reversed. He could only nod as he felt the Undertaker chuckle and tap his shoulder, before pushing him out of the shower and closing the door.


	7. Payback is a Bitch

**Dominance**

**Chapter 7 : Payback is a Bitch**

**NA: This is a monologue from Batista which happens just after No Way Out 2007: Batista and Taker were in a tag match against HBK and Cena. At the very end, when it looked like they were going to win, Batista betrays Taker and takes him out, then leaves the ring. **

Ah, I bet you didn't see that one coming huh? We worked so well together, like a well-oiled machine. We had chemistry as lovers that I know I will never find with anybody else. It was really a shame to put an end to it, but I did what I had to do. No Way Out. What better opportunity for a good old-fashioned betrayal? Because make no mistake, that's exactly what it was. A brutal, premeditated betrayal. Hunter would be so proud of me. I took the Undertaker completely by surprise, at the least expected moment. We were winning. We had the advantage, as a team, against Cena and Michaels. We both knew it. A few moments left, and it would have been over, with a tombstone that I would have protected from any interference. That never happened. A spinebuster is what happened, then a superkick, then a FU, and my Wrestlemania opponent was flat on his back as he was counted down 1, 2, 3. Now that was a good sight. Very satisfying.

I know what you're thinking. How could I do this, after the Undertaker showed me so much trust in the past week? Simple, it's all part of the game. You see, playing partners is not my style. It was great, I admit it. But in the end, all that matters is the belt around my waist. That belt says I'm the top player, and I intend to keep it. Against someone like the Undertaker, I cannot afford to let any opportunity to hurt him pass.

And believe me, I hurt him. For the past two weeks, he had been leading the game. Not anymore. He let himself be swayed from what's really at stake. I almost did that, too. Almost. But then I remembered Hunter, and everything became clear again. The Undertaker is not my partner, not my friend, not my lover. He is the enemy. He wants the World Heavyweight Title. Not a chance.

* * *

**Hello all! So I've finally uploaded enough chapters to get back to the point where I was a couple of years ago. I apologize immensely to all of those who read and reviewed my fic then - I just had to take it out. Again, I'm terribly sorry, and I hope that I will get back in touch with all of you (especially with the girls of the WSFA, and also my Beta-reader, Tina).**

**I will try to finish this fic. To be perfectly honest, I've already written the final chapters, but I seem to be stuck with what goes on in between. Any idea or advice is more than welcome!**

**Thanks a lot to those who took the time to review this fic *again*, I really appreciate it.**

**Reena**


	8. Broken and Rebuilt

**Dominance**

**Last Chapter: Broken and Rebuilt**

**AN: So, in all likelihood, I will never write the chapters that go in between chapter 7 and that last one. I had planned for roughly 4 chapters, with Kane getting some revenge, but basically with Batista getting the better of Taker, kicking ass and becoming obsessed to the point of near madness. **

**This chapter is situated just after Wrestlemania 23, where Big Dave lost the Championship belt to Taker. M rating. Enjoy.

* * *

**

"_I am the architecture of your world and mind."_

He lost. Fair and square, in front of millions, he lost. People told him the battle had been epic, that he came closer to end the streak than anybody else. It didn't matter. He lost. He lost the title, but most importantly he lost it to the Undertaker. For their first one on one confrontation, he lost.

He lost.

That only thought was drilling a hole through Batista's mind. He was sitting in his hotel room, staring at the wall with a glass of alcohol in his hand. He had been so sure of his victory. Two days before, he had laid out the Phenom with a thunderous spear, gaining both a physical and psychological advantage. And yet. Nothing had worked. Now everything was over.

_He lost._

For two months, he had played a game of cat and mouse with the Undertaker. Sometimes the cat, other times the mouse. He had enjoyed it, he had drunk into the other man's presence, had even taken him one night. But throughout all this game, he had never once doubted that he would come out on top. He was Batista, the Animal, he should have won. But he didn't. He lost. And now the Undertaker had taken his soul, his will to fight. He didn't know how he could ever step inside a ring and wrestle again.

Just as he wished he could drink himself into nothingness, a soft knock on his door interrupted his dark thoughts. He eyed the door wearily, but didn't move. What was the point? The soft knock came back, not more insistent than the first time, but just there. An uneasy shiver came over Batista. He gulped down his wine, and got up. As he stopped in front of his door, the weird feeling was stronger than ever. Feeling he had no other choice, he opened the door.

The Deadman himself, newly crowned World Heavyweight Champion, was standing in front of him. Undertaker wasn't smiling, wasn't gloating. He was simply staring at Batista with his unblinking eyes, as he had done for the past two months. Batista was frozen on the spot. For the first time since their rivalry began, he was completely vulnerable, and he knew it. He had lost. He had lost in a one-on-one match. Now there was a victor and a defeated. This changed everything, and Batista wasn't sure he wanted to play that game now that the rules had been changed.

"Aren't you going to let me in?"

Batista closed his eyes, and stepped aside, mutely inviting the Phenom. He was already considering putting an end to his carrier, what did he have left to loose anyway? Taker walked in without a word. He put his coat and hat on the couch, then turned around and gave Dave a long, hard look.

"How's your back?"

The question took Batista by surprise.

"It's fine", he grunted.

"Good."

"Why? Why do you care anyway? What are you doing here?"

"You really don't know?"

Batista looked down.

"I lost."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"What? Of course I did!" Batista retorted heatedly. How dared he suggest that everything had been lost in advance!

Undertaker just smiled as Batista let himself fall back down angrily where he was before his visitor came in. The Animal was about to drink some more alcohol when suddenly the Taker was in front of him, looming over him with both hands on the armchair, effectively trapping him between powerful, tattooed arms. Surprised Batista looked up and was immediately ensnared by the green eyes of the Reaper who seemed to pierce his soul. The Deadman held him still simply with that look, and bent over slowly to press his lips against Batista's.

At first, Batista was completely unresponsive to the hot mouth that coaxed him, licking and nibbling at his lips. He didn't understand why the Undertaker would do something like that. The fight was over. He lost. What was the point of playing other games? Then he stopped thinking, deciding to play along with these new rules, and totally lost himself to the feelings that threatened to overcome him. As he kissed back hungrily, needily, burying his hands in the long dark locks, he felt so distraught, so desperate that he wanted to shout, to cry, to express this unwelcome tempest of emotions anyway he could. He clawed and kicked at the Undertaker, who never broke the kiss. He bit and fought, drawing blood, and Taker bit back. But in the end the Deadman hold on. He restrained Batista and held him until the crisis subsided, until Dave fell back limply with a strangled moan. Only then did he release Dave's lips.

The Animal was panting harshly due to the lack of oxygen. He felt considerably lighter now, as if nothing mattered anymore, as the Phenom gently kissed his face, and licked away the tears he didn't know he had shed. Taker buried his face in his rival's neck and Dave did the same, and they both breathed each other as Taker ran his hands soothingly down Batista's sides.

The Animal became aware that his shirt had been unbuttoned only when he felt strong hands caress his chest and back reassuringly. Closing his eyes, he let the Undertaker do what he wanted. He didn't protest when his pants were slowly undone, and a warm hand gently cupped and stroked his manhood through the black boxers.

Batista idly wondered when the shadow looming over him had become so reassuring, so safe. He clung to it as the mouth continued to lave his neck, as his nipples were pinched and rubbed while the warm hand stroked him to hardness.

So many sensations, all of them gentle and soothing, so different from what he had endured from this man just a few hours ago. Batista felt lost, and completely defenceless under the tender assault. He heard a desperate moan, and realized it was his.

"T…Taker!"

"Call me Mark", murmured the Deadman before moving his lips down the younger man's torso. His chest was laved and marked, the wicked tongue diving into his belly button and making him squirm, before stopping inches away from the wet bulge between his legs. His cock was straining against the denim clothes, pulsing with heat. Taker gave Batista a positively indecent look before applying his mouth.

Batista's eyes rolled back as he felt the hot tongue massage his groin through the piece of clothe. It felt so good, yet so frustrating. The sweet torture heightened his desire until he thought he would come in his underwear, but the wonderful mouth retreated.

Feeling heady, Batista was ready to beg for more if that was what the other man wanted, but before he could do anything, his cock was freed from its prison, and the talented mouth was back again. Only moans and almost pained whimpers were heard in the hotel room as Batista, hips pinned, unable to move, was brought to the brink of an orgasm and denied time and time again.

The Animal was practically sobbing in need, shivering helplessly when The Undertaker finally took pity on him and deep-throated him in one smooth movement. The onslaught was too much for Batista, who came in Taker's mouth with a pained cry of pleasure.

As he slowly came down from the high he'd been, Dave was vaguely aware of being helped to his feet and carried to his bed. He was handled with so much care that he didn't find the will to protest or even move as he was stripped from his clothes and laid on his belly in the middle of the bed. Then two hands gently dug into his shoulders, kneading the knots and the aching muscles, and he was treated to one of the most skilled back massages he had ever had. Batista was almost asleep when the hands stopped, and his back felt like it had been completely rebuilt from nothing. Dave felt good all over, and couldn't figure out why on his life the Undertaker would do something like that, but he certainly wasn't going to complain now. A great weight came onto the bed and again he felt the shadow of the Deadman hovering over him, enveloping him.

What happened next didn't really surprise him. At that point he was ready to accept anything from this man. This man who had destroyed him just a few hours ago and was in the process of rebuilding him.

His legs were gently but firmly pushed apart, and a slick finger teased his asshole before entering him at an excruciatingly slow and measured pace. It had been awhile since he felt that kind of sensation, in fact the last time had been with Hunter, and he clamped involuntarily around the intrusive finger. A warm hand caressed the small of his back soothingly, and soon he was able to relax enough for the finger to move a little. Undertaker stretched Batista carefully. A second finger was added at the same methodical pace, and Dave felt himself harden again when his prostate was found. A jolt of electricity seemed to have been sent from that little numb throughout all his body, and he couldn't help the pathetic moan that escaped from his mouth. He could almost feel the Undertaker smirk as he started a scissoring motion to stretch him further, and the Animal desperately clung to his pillows when a third finger joined the other two.

His prostrate was stroked mercilessly as the fingers set a regular pace that left Batista panting for more, harder, faster, but even his helpless bucking was stopped by a strong forearm on the small of his back that pinned him to the bed. The Animal could only wait and endure as he was stretched and prepared until he thought he could take a whole tree up his ass and not feel the slightest pain.

Finally, the fingers retreated, leaving Batista with a feeling of unbearable emptiness. By now completely past any coherent thought, the Animal started humping the soft sheets of the bed beneath him relieve some of the maddening throbbing in his prick, but was immediately reprimanded for it by a firm slap on his ass. A positively desperate whimper escaped Batista, but he forced himself to stay still. A soft chuckle of appreciation was heard and the Undertaker motioned for Batista to roll on his back. Dave obliged, and was treated to the sight of a completely naked and very erect Deadman looming over him. The Undertaker pinned him with a soul-taking stare as he lubed his cock with care. Then, he put Batista's legs over his shoulders, never breaking eye contact, and penetrated his younger rival in one slow, smooth, and seemingly endless thrust. They both held their breath, savouring the moment. It felt so right, so perfect.

After what seemed an eternity for Batista, the Deadman was finally fully sheathed. The older man let out a deep sigh and softly, almost reverently kissed Batista's left thigh. Then he put his arms on each side of Batista's head, claimed his lips in a demanding kiss, and proceeded to move.

It was unlike anything Dave had ever experienced. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except put his arms around the older man and hang on for dear life. The Deadman pounded him like there was no tomorrow. No gentleness there, only a long, hard, experienced and passionate fuck. The Undertaker used Batista for what seemed like hours and hours, never relenting, not once letting the younger man catch his breath. Batista felt himself moved into several different positions, each of them intensifying the white hot pleasure taking over him.

Having sex with the Undertaker was like wrestling with him. He was just as intense, just as focused on his partner, and just as skilled. Only then did Batista understand. The game wasn't over. He had lost once, he would win next time. He was still worthy. He was still strong. Fighting was in his blood, and he would prove it again. With renewed passion, he aggressively took a hold of the Undertaker's hair and brought him down for a bruising kiss. After an instant of surprise, the Taker responded approvingly, increasing the pace of his thrusting and making Batista moan in his mouth.

* * *

Dave Batista slowly tried to open his eyes, but closed them as soon as a timid ray of light hit his sensitive retina. Groaning, aching satisfyingly all over, he brought the sheets back over his head and snuggled closer to the warm body next to his. Except there was no one in his bed. Suddenly fully awake, he realized who he had been with, what they had done, and also that a very precise place of his anatomy hurt like hell. With a sigh, he fell back on the sheets.

They had made love the whole night. Sometimes gentle and tender, sometimes harsh and aggressive. A warm, fuzzy, and absolutely embarrassing feeling spread in his gut. He smiled. A true, full, happy, contented, and probably very stupid-looking smile that spread on his lips uncontrollably. He closed his eyes. The game wasn't over.


	9. Epilogue

AN/ There it is, the last chapter of Dominance. Thanks to all who read and to all who reviewed the last time I uploaded this story. Again, thanks especially to Tina who helped me beat the first chapters into shape.

This epilogue happens just after Taker get his title stolen by Edge and disappeared.

* * *

**Epilogue**

He's gone. He's really gone. And before I could beat him too. I tried so hard though. We've had wars – Last Man Standing, Steel Cage matches. We fought nearly to the death during the day and we made love at night. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, or at least I knew I couldn't. I never really knew what Mark thought.

I was ready to sacrifice everything to keep on dancing with him like this. But deep down I knew I needed a victory – to prove to myself that I had become stronger, worthy.

It doesn't really matter now. He's gone.

I had never seen Kane so lost, so distraught, as when he came to my locker room after his brother had been taken away by the druids. I guess he was looking for comfort. Problem was, I was barely conscious at the time, and just as lost as he was, trying to realize what just happened.

His sorrow was quickly replaced by fury though, and now Kane is haunting Edge like a predator would his prey. Good, because I can't do it. I don't feel that fury, I'm not even a little bit angry with Edge. I just feel empty.

He's gone.

He's gone before the end of the game.

What am I supposed to do now?


End file.
